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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435671">As Long As You're Mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/pseuds/empressearwig'>empressearwig</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Bridgertons Play Hockey [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canada, Canonical Character Death, Desk Sex, F/M, Grief, Reconciliation, Second Chances</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:34:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,326</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/pseuds/empressearwig</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Stirling and Francesca Bridgerton Stirling are the last people who should be in love with each other. (A Bridgertons Play Hockey AU.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Francesca Bridgerton/John Stirling, Francesca Bridgerton/Michael Stirling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Bridgertons Play Hockey [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/626777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>As Long As You're Mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/gifts">tosca1390</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many thanks to everyone who has found this fic universe in the last few weeks for your interest, I'm not sure I would have put my nose to the grindstone in quite the same way to get this out otherwise. Many thanks also to torigates and theepiccek, for your feedback and help with this as I tried to cross the finish line. Any mistakes are mine. Two more books to go!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Four years earlier…</em>
</p><p>Michael Stirling was in hell.</p><p>He was sure that no one else would account it as such--he was rich, he was good looking, he never lacked for a woman on his arm or in his bed, and maybe most importantly to his fellow Canadians, he had a job in hockey. But despite all of that good fortune, there was one fact of his life that made it impossible for him to be happy.</p><p>He was in love with his cousin's wife.</p><p>It would have been one thing if his cousin had been terrible or that he and his wife were a terrible match. But John was Michael's best friend, his brother in all but parentage. John was quite simply the best man that Michael knew. And John and Francesca were one of those annoyingly perfect couples that just <em>fit</em> together.</p><p>Never in a million years would Michael ever act on his feelings, but that didn't make the time that he spent with them any easier, and since he and John worked together every day and socialized most of them, it was a lot of time spent suffering in silence.</p><p>Tonight, for instance. The three of them were sitting in John and Francesca's media room, watching the NHL playoffs. It was pretty much how they'd spent every night since the Senators season ended, and Michael and John were no longer required to spend every night at the rink. Another terrible season had meant that sponsors needed glad handing from the owners to keep them on board and talent needed evaluating in advance of yet another rebuild. This, on top of John's job in the front office and Michael's job with the scouting department. It was wrong, and he'd never admit it to anyone, but being able to veg out and scout potential free agents amidst the comforts of home was almost a relief. It had been a very long second half of the season, with the team eliminated from playoff contention by the all-star break.</p><p>"I should go," said Michael after the end of the second period in the Rangers-Hurricanes series. "I think I've seen enough for one night."</p><p>From her spot under John's arm, Francesca perked up. "Hot date?" she asked, with a waggle of her eyebrows.</p><p>Gently, he pushed her head back to where it had come from. "That's for me to know and you to not."</p><p>"I think that means no," said John absently. He rubbed his forehead, and frowned down at his iPad.</p><p>"Something wrong?" Michael asked, at the same time that Francesca said, "Are you alright?"</p><p>John looked up and gave both of them a faint smile. "Just a headache."</p><p>Francesca took the iPad from his hands and put it out of reach on the end table nearest her. "You've been looking at that thing all night, it's no wonder. Don't you all offer ergonomics at Stirling Sports? You'd think one of the future owners would heed their own advice."</p><p>"No rest for the wicked," he said.</p><p>"And yet I'm going home to bed," Michael said. "Take the rest of the night off, John."</p><p>"I shouldn't," John said, but he looked tempted.</p><p>"Tell you what," said Michael. "You promise to get some rest, and I'll take Frannie out for a drink so that she's not in your hair."</p><p>"Excuse me!" said Francesca, indignantly. "I resent the implication that I am something that would cause a headache."</p><p>"That does sound good," said John, with an apologetic look at his wife. He caught Francesca's hand in his and kissed it. "You don't mind, do you?"</p><p>Her face softened. "Of course not." She leaned in to kiss him, and Michael looked away. It didn't matter how many times he saw it. It never got easier. "This will give me more time to figure out what's wrong with Michael anyway."</p><p>"My love, I think you'll need more than one drink for that," said John. He looked up at Michael. "Take care of her."</p><p>"Always," said Michael.</p><p>Francesca stood up. "If the two of you are done passing off responsibility for me, I'm going to grab my coat. Meet me out front, Michael?"</p><p>He nodded. When she left the room, he looked down at John, who was rubbing his temples in circles. "Are you sure it's just a headache?"</p><p>"Frannie's right, it's probably just eye strain. And the weather." He looked up at Michael with a serious impression. "Are you sure you don't mind taking Francesca out? I know we've been pulling some long hours lately, I don't blame you for wanting an early night for a change."</p><p>Michael shook his head. "I wouldn't have offered otherwise. Talk in the morning? Or text me if something good happens in a west coast game. I'll probably be up."</p><p>"I will," said John. "See you at the office."</p><p>Satisfied that if the mothers asked, he'd done his cousinly due diligence, Michael went to wait for Francesca at the front door. She joined him moments later, and linking her arm through his, they went outside. When he went towards his car, she steered him towards the sidewalk instead.</p><p>"Do you mind if we walk instead?" she asked, with a hopeful smile. "It's not far and I feel...itchy. I could use the fresh air."</p><p>"Of course not," said Michael. "Anything wrong?"</p><p>Francesca shook her head. "Just one of those days where you feel a little like you're coming out of your skin. You know what I mean?"</p><p>"Are you sure you're not molting?" he teased. He looked behind them. "No wings that I can see."</p><p>Francesca snorted. "Am I a bird or an angel in this scenario?"</p><p>"Definitely a bird," Michael said. "You forget, I've seen you at too many sporting events. I'm pretty sure that angels don't have that kind of vocabulary."</p><p>"That is...a fair point," Francesca conceded. She squeezed his arm. "How are you, Michael?"</p><p>Surprised, he looked down at her. "Me? I'm fine."</p><p>"Are you really?" she asked. "It seems like all you and John have done since the start of the year is work. All work and no play must make Michael a dull boy."</p><p>"What makes you think I haven't managed any play?" he said, with an over exaggerated leer. It made her laugh, which is what he had been aiming for. "Besides, I thought you didn't approve of my women."</p><p>"I just want you to be happy," she said, and it caused a pang in his chest. "We both do."</p><p>"Not everyone has to be part of a couple to be happy, Frannie," Michael said, more harshly than he meant to. Her eyes went wide at his tone and he sighed, scrubbing his free hand over his face. "I'm sorry. Just don't get any ideas about fixing me up with one of your sisters. I get enough of that from the mothers."</p><p>"You and Eloise would never work," said Francesca. "And Hyacinth is an infant." She shot him a sideways look. "I do have some lovely Bridgerton cousins, though…"</p><p>WIth a laugh, he flicked her in the ear. "Pass. Can't a man enjoy his single life without the women in his life deciding it means that he's secretly tortured and the love of a good woman will save him?"</p><p>"I don't think that," Francesca protested. They reached the local bar near her and John's home, and she made a face when Michael went to open the door. "I don't think I want to get a drink after all."</p><p>Michael turned them back in the direction of her home. "Not a problem. Are you sure <em>you're</em> okay?"</p><p>"I didn't realize how much I wasn't in the mood for people until we got here," she said. She squeezed his arm. "Present company excluded, of course."</p><p>Michael smiled, but let it go. They walked back the rest of the way to John and Francesca's house in silence. When they got there, Michael waited while Francesca unlocked the front door.</p><p>She looked back at him in surprise. "I thought you were heading home."</p><p>"John would kill me if I didn't wait for you to go inside."</p><p>Francesca's eyes narrowed at him, and Michael held up his hand.</p><p>"Plus, I forgot my iPad. Figured I would just grab it and not make John bring it to the office tomorrow morning."</p><p>"Fair enough," she said, letting them into the house. The downstairs was quiet and dark. "John must have gone up to bed after all. Good."</p><p>Michael nodded in the direction of the media room. "I'll go grab it and let myself out. I'll lock up behind me."</p><p>Francesca flashed him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Michael. I'm going to go check on him."</p><p>He watched her go up the stairs and then headed down the hall. He picked his iPad up off the end table where he'd left it, and was heading back towards the front door when he heard Francesca scream.</p><p>***</p><p>No.</p><p>No.</p><p>Francesca clung to that word, as she stood by the side of her bed, looking down at John. She knew she should be doing something, anything, but she couldn't think of anything besides that single word.</p><p>There were loud footsteps in the hall, and Michael burst into the room. He grabbed her shoulders. "What is it?"</p><p>She pointed at the bed. John was there. It looked like he was asleep, but he was too still. He wasn't asleep. Francesca didn't want to think about what it meant if he wasn't asleep. She choked out John's name.</p><p>Michael nudged her aside and stepped up to the edge of the bed. She watched him look at John, bending down to check for breathing. He put his fingers to the pulse in John's neck.</p><p>She knew before he turned around. She'd known before he checked.</p><p>John was gone. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.</p><p>Michael looked at her, his face a mask of grief. "Frannie."</p><p>She collapsed in his arms and didn't wake until the morning.</p><p>***</p><p>From the moment Michael caught Francesca mid-faint, he went on autopilot. Keeping going was the only option. If he didn't, if he let himself do anything else, he'd end up on the floor and there wouldn't be anyone there to catch him, because the person who had always done that for him was in that bed.</p><p>Dead.</p><p>Michael carried Francesca to the guest bedroom and laid her out as gently as he could. He dialed 911 and had an ambulance dispatched. He called his aunt, and when she didn't answer, he called his mother. He broke the news as gently as he could, because she was as good as John's second mother. When she collected herself enough to ask what she could do, Michael asked her to go to her sister's house to tell her in person.</p><p>He had to stay with Francesca.</p><p>He called Francesca's mother, and after her own bout of shocked grief, she promised to find the first flight out to Ottawa. He told her that he would charter a plane for her, and to expect a call from his assistant. He called his assistant, and without telling her why, instructed her to get Violet Bridgerton to Canada as fast as humanly possible.</p><p>And when all that was done, he went to sit with John until the ambulance arrived.</p><p>It was strange, he thought, how even though the body in front of him looked exactly like the cousin that Michael had spent nearly his entire life alongside, it was so obvious to him that it was no longer John. He wasn't a religious man, and he'd never really believed the whole concept of souls, but something was different. Something was gone.</p><p>He couldn't believe he'd never hear John's voice again.</p><p>"I'm so sorry," he said. "We shouldn't have left you here alone. We should have known something was wrong. But you had a headache. You get headaches five times a day, and they're called our mothers."</p><p>He touched John's hand, then grabbed, and held on.</p><p>"I'll take care of them, you know. Yours and mine. They've always been ours together. And Francesca...I'll take care of her too. She'll stay a member of our family. We won't let you down. I promise."</p><p>There was a loud knock from the front of the house. Michael stood up, and took a final look at his cousin's face. He bent down and kissed John's forehead.</p><p>"I love you," he said.</p><p>Then he went downstairs to let in the paramedics.</p><p>***</p><p>When Francesca woke up the next morning, she was confused. She wasn't in her bed. She was still in her clothes from the night before. John wasn't beside her.</p><p>And then she remembered. She let out a sob.</p><p>The door to the bedroom opened, and her mother came inside. She was carrying a tray, but at the sight of Francesca, disheveled from sleep and with tears running freely down her cheeks, Violet set the tray down on the nearest flat surface. She climbed into bed with Francesca, and wrapped her arms around her.</p><p>"I'm so sorry, Frannie," said Violet, murmuring the words into her hair. She whispered nonsense soothing noises, rocking Francesca in her arms, just like she'd done when Francesca was a little girl.</p><p>She wasn't a little girl anymore, and this hurt was nothing like a skinned knee. But if she had to be alive in a world without John, her mother's arms were the only place she could imagine being. She let her mother hold her.</p><p>Eventually the tears slowed, and Francesca brought her hands up to her cheeks to wipe them away. "How did you know to come?"</p><p>Violet passed Francesca the box of tissues from the bedside table. "Michael called me, and arranged for me to get her as soon as possible. I wasn't sure who else you'd want, so I didn't bring anyone with me, but he's offered to send for anyone you like whenever you're ready."</p><p>Francesca shook her head. "I can't think about that yet."</p><p>"Can you think about some breakfast?" Violet asked, nodding towards the tray she'd brought in. "Just weak tea and toast. I didn't think you'd be up for anything more than that. But you should eat something."</p><p>Francesca didn't see why, but this wasn't an argument worth having with her mother. She nodded, and Violet climbed down off the bed and brought the tray over to the bed. She waited, watching, until Francesca took a bite of toast.</p><p>Violet nodded, satisfied. "Do you think you'd like to shower after you finish? Janet and Helen are downstairs, and they won't disturb you until you're ready, I've seen to that. I could fetch your things for you."</p><p>The 'so you don't have to go into your bedroom where you last saw your dead husband' went unsaid, and Francesca was grateful for it. Grateful too, for the idea. She couldn't face that room yet. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to face it again. She nodded. "Please."</p><p>A look of relief passed over her mother's face. Francesca couldn't think what there was to be relieved about, but then maybe her mother just didn't want her to faint again. After all, it wasn't as if Michael was always going to be there to catch her when she fell.</p><p>"Where's Michael?" Francesca asked.</p><p>"I believe he's downstairs with Janet and Helen," said Violet, surprised. "Do you want him?"</p><p>"Yes," said Francesca. "No. Yes."</p><p>"I'll tell you what," said Violet. "Why don't I go tell Michael you'd like to speak with him, and then I'll get your things. When I bring them in here for you, that's a natural reason to send him away if it's too much to see him."</p><p>It was as good a plan as any, and better than Francesca was capable of thinking of. She nodded.</p><p>Violet kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand. "Finish your breakfast."</p><p>With that parting instruction, she slipped back out the door. Francesca was left alone with her grief and a breakfast she had no interest in eating.</p><p>She started to cry again.</p><p>***</p><p>Michael hadn't expected the summons upstairs from Violet Bridgerton. He'd thought that Francesca would want to see Janet first, or maybe she'd have come downstairs to see all of them together. Not that she'd want to see him alone.</p><p>He wasn't sure he was ready for it. Maybe there was no being ready. He certainly hadn't been ready to lose John. And yet here they were together. Not being ready for any of what came next.</p><p>He knocked on the door, and pushed it open a crack. "Frannie?"</p><p>"Come in," she said, in a watery voice.</p><p>Michael went inside and the sight of her brought on a fresh stab of grief. Francesca was a quietly indomitable person, the way he imagined you would have to be to survey being an introvert in the Bridgerton family. But she looked utterly defeated now, curled up in the middle of the bed with fresh tear tracks on her cheeks.</p><p>Without thinking, he went to the bed and pulled her onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, and Francesca buried her face in his chest. He stroked his hands down her back and murmured nonsense, trying to soothe, furious that this was all he could do for her. Furious that it was necessary at all.</p><p>John should be the one holding his wife. It was so goddamn unfair that he never would again.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Francesca said, her voice muffled by his shirt. "I didn't ask for you to cry all over you, I swear."</p><p>"Whatever you need."</p><p>Though they were wholly inadequate, his words seemed to help bring Francesca back to herself. She slid off his lap and straightened her shoulders, her self-possession returning along with the color in her cheeks.</p><p>"How is Janet? Helen?" When he hesitated, she spoke again. "The truth, please. I need that from you, Michael. I don't know if anyone else will give it to me."</p><p>"Devastated," he said. "But holding it together. I don't know how they'll react when they see you."</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>"You don't have to be strong for them, Frannie. They wouldn't want you to be."</p><p>"I know," she said. "But maybe pretending to be strong is the only way I'm going to get through this."</p><p>God, he loved her. And he'd never hated himself more for it.</p><p>Suddenly, he couldn't be in the room with her. Looking at her, all he could see was the thousands of times he'd betrayed his cousin in his head. John wasn't the one who should have died.</p><p>Michael stood in a hurry, ignoring the confused look on Francesca's face. "I should go," he said, nodding towards the door. "Just...go."</p><p>He looked back at her when he got to the door. She looked so small and hurt sitting there on the bed alone. But he wasn't a good enough man to stay. "I'm sorry."</p><p>When he closed the door behind him, he heard her start to cry.</p><p>***</p><p>It was a strange thing to be a widow at twenty-five.</p><p>There were so many conversations that they'd never had, because there hadn't been enough time, and it all left Francesca at sea. Her mother and the Stirling women helped as best they could, but there were still so many decisions that only Francesca could make. Cremation or burial? What charity to suggest for donations in his memory? Should there be a public memorial, or was she allowed to keep her grief private?</p><p>And through all it, the only person she wanted at her side was the one person who wasn't there. She spent her days and nights tripping over her siblings, and all the mothers, and more well meaning Stirling Sports underlings than she could count.</p><p>But Michael wasn't there.</p><p>She knew from Janet and Helen that he'd thrown himself into work, that he was trying to do both his job and John's. She understood the impulse; with every terrible decision that she had to make about commemorating John, pretending to be herself got a little easier. As long as there was something to choose, she had a purpose. She didn't let herself think about what would happen when there was nothing left to decide.</p><p>Michael had promised her whatever she needed. The trouble was, what she needed him and he wasn't delivering.</p><p>Finally, the day came for the memorial services--two, one for the family and one for the public--and Francesca finally saw him. He looked as hollow eyed as she felt, and it was as though he'd aged five years in one week. Michael had always looked as though he were about to start laughing, no matter how serious the occasion, but all of that laughter was gone from him now and Francesca barely recognized the man that was left.</p><p>They stood together in the church vestibule, just staring at each other, until finally Michael spoke. "I'm sorry," he said.</p><p>She didn't have it in her to let him off so easily. "For what?"</p><p>"For not being there when you needed me. The mothers told me you kept asking for me, until you finally gave up."</p><p>It should have been enough that he knew why he was apologizing. It wasn't. "But why? Why did you leave me alone?"</p><p>He ran his hands through his hair, and barked a laugh. "Alone, Francesca?"</p><p>She acknowledged his point. "Not alone, then. Without you. I needed you, Michael."</p><p>A wild look crossed his face, and was gone. "John. You needed John. And I can't be your substitute."</p><p>She looked at him in shock. Was that what he thought? "Michael, I--"</p><p>"I need to tell you something," he interrupted. "When this is over, I'm heading to Europe. There's a scouting position open and I... I can't be here."</p><p>"But," she started to say, and then they were being called into the chapel where they were laying John's memory to rest. There was no more time to talk. And true to his word, when it was over, when it was all done, Michael was gone.</p><p>And he stayed gone for the next four years.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Present day…</em>
</p><p>Michael Stirling had always known he would have to come home someday. When he'd left Ottawa, full of grief and self-hate, he hadn't thought about how long he might be gone. A hockey season, maybe two, and then he'd come back to clean up the mess that he had made and to help lift the burden he left behind off his mother and aunt's shoulders.</p><p>But time is a funny thing. One hockey season turned into two, turned into four, and going home became one of those things that had been built up so much that it became impossible to do. Until the day that his mother called and told him that he no longer had any choices. He was coming home and being thrown into the deep end, and that was that.</p><p>Four years.</p><p>It was an instant and it was forever. Standing in the executive level conference room at Stirling Sports, he looked out over the city and it was the same skyline and yet it wasn't. He was the same person he'd been when he left and he wasn't. He'd been gone too long. He didn't know how he was going to fit himself back into this world.</p><p>He didn't know if the world he'd left behind would welcome him back. He didn't know if <em>she</em> would welcome him back.</p><p>"Hello, Michael."</p><p>He closed his eyes. He should have known that she'd be the first person to find him there. It couldn't have been anyone but her. He let out a breath and turned, hoping that the last four years would have changed the way that he felt when he looked at her. It hadn't.</p><p>"Hello, Francesca."</p><p>From across the room, they regarded each other. Michael couldn't tell what she was thinking; absence had given him that at least. But the years had only made her more beautiful. When he'd left, she'd been a woman just coming into her full powers. Now, she stood before him dressed in the armor of a power suit and with the aura of someone who knew that their every order would be obeyed immediately. She'd grown up into someone magnificent and he hadn't been there to see it. It was only another thing to blame himself for.</p><p>Eventually, she looked away. He let himself look at her for a moment more, then rounded the conference table to her side. Gently, he kissed her cheek and breathed in her scent, resisting the urge to gather her into his arms with every ounce of will that he possessed.</p><p>"It's good to see you, Frannie," he said, forcing himself to step back.</p><p>At that, her eyes lit, and he saw some hint of the woman he'd left behind. "Francesca."</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"Francesca," she said, more slowly, as though he didn't know her name as well as his own. "Frannie is a nickname, one that I don't choose to use in the office, and one that your permission to use has long since been withdrawn."</p><p>He nodded. He deserved that. "Francesca, then. It's still good to see you."</p><p>At that, she snorted, and moved around him to deposit her belongings at the head of the table. Ignoring him, she started to unpack her briefcase in quick, methodical movements that spoke to habit and routine.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You had any number of opportunities to see me in the last four years, Michael. Forgive me for not believing that you feel anything about seeing me again."</p><p>"Don't," he said, his tone sharp.</p><p>She looked up, surprise taking the place of deliberate indifference for the briefest of moments.</p><p>"I know I have a hell of a lot to apologize for and to explain, but don't sit there and tell me you know how I felt every minute of every day that I was gone, Francesca. You don't." He let out a short laugh, one tinged with years of bitterness and regrets. "You'd never speak to me again if you did."</p><p>She looked like she wanted to press him, but his mother swept into the room then, her arms open for a hug that he was only too glad to give her. And then there was Aunt Janet, and a host of staff behind them, and there wasn't any more time for Francesca at all.</p><p>But during the meeting that followed, from his position opposite her at the conference table, in small, scattered moments, he saw her watching him, as he was watching her.</p><p>This first meeting might not have gone to his plan, but maybe it was better that he knew what he was up against. Once upon a time, they'd said that Michael Stirling was the most charming man in Ontario.</p><p>Francesca Stirling née Bridgerton wasn't going to know what hit her.</p><p>***</p><p>When the morning meeting was over, Francesca retreated to her office. Behind her, she could hear the voices of everyone rushing to greet Michael. She couldn't blame them. Many of them hadn't ever met him, and he was the new co-CEO of Stirling Sports. But it would have been nice to have gotten a little loyalty from the people that she'd spent the past four years winning over. When she'd started at Stirling after John's death, she'd had had no business taking the position that Janet and Helen had given her. She'd known it and everyone she'd worked with had known it too. But she'd worked her ass off, to learn the business and to grow as a leader, and to make herself into someone who people could respect.</p><p>It was lowering to realize that all that work was nothing to being the owner's son. He was the real heir to the throne and she was the imposter that wasn't meant to be there at all.</p><p>With a sigh, she lowered herself into her desk chair and spun to look out the window. She wasn't being fair to the rest of the employees. She knew that. But if she wasn't allowed a moment of self-pity on this of all mornings, she didn't know when she would be.</p><p>"Good morning!" came the voice of her assistant, Miranda Priestly, from behind her. "Are we ready to get started?"</p><p>"Do I have to?" Francesca asked, spinning her chair back the right way around. "Don't answer that."</p><p>Miranda made sympathetic noises, before dumping a pile of paperwork on Francesca's desk. "Was it that bad? I didn't see a trail of blood leading into the office."</p><p>"We were very grown up," Francesca said. "It was awful."</p><p>"You know what you need to do?" Miranda asked.</p><p>"Sign these papers?"</p><p>"You two need to be locked in a room somewhere and not allowed out until you've thrashed this out between you." She waggled her eyebrows at Francesca. "I admit, I made sure to walk past the conference room on my way in and I definitely don't remember you mentioning how handsome he is."</p><p>Francesca raised her eyebrows, not the slightest bit amused. "Are you defecting to the enemy's side?"</p><p>"I can be Team Francesca and still recognize a prime male specimen when I see one. If we do lock the two of you up to resolve your differences, at least you'll have a pleasant view."</p><p>Francesca pointed towards the door. "Go."</p><p>"I'm going," Miranda said. "Don't forget that you're getting lunch with all the Stirlings today. Michael included."</p><p>"Lucky me," Francesca muttered, staring down at the mountain of paperwork that Miranda had left her with. Rather than starting in on it, she picked up her phone.</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
He's here.</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
And??</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
I don't want to talk about it.</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
You wouldn't be texting me in the middle of my honeymoon if you didn't want to talk about it.</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
Worst sister ever. I'll get over it. Give Pippa a kiss for me. Xx</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
Oh, I will. ;)<br/>
Talk next week. Sooner if you need bail money.</p><p>Maybe it was silly, but the small interaction with her sister had helped. No matter what happened with Michael and the Stirlings, Francesca would always be a Bridgerton and her family would always have her back.</p><p>She put her head down and got to work.</p><p>***</p><p>It felt like the day had barely begun, when Michael was being bundled out of the office by his new assistant, Phil Reivers.</p><p>"There's a car waiting for you downstairs," he said. "You're having lunch with your mother and aunt, as well as Francesca. Once you get back, we'll start going over some of the transition paperwork that legal has sent over. Tomorrow should be a much more normal day. I'm sure everyone will have gotten over their instincts to treat you like an animal at the zoo."</p><p>"Are you sure?" Michael asked wryly. "I'm not sure everyone has found an excuse to walk past my office yet."</p><p>"Maybe we should give that until the end of the week. It has been years since some of them have seen you."</p><p>Michael raised an eyebrow at him. "Et tu, Phil?"</p><p>"Four years is a <em>very</em> long time," he said. He held open the door for Michael. "Have a good lunch!"</p><p>Chuckling, Michael got into the backseat of the waiting black town car. To his surprise, he wasn't alone. Francesca was sitting on the other side of the car and she didn't look particularly pleased to see him.</p><p>"Michael," she said.</p><p>"What are you doing here?" he asked, then shook his head. "Stupid question. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, my assistant didn't mention we were carpooling."</p><p>At that, Francesca smiled, just a little. It was an arrow to his heart. "I suspect our assistants may be in cahoots."</p><p>"Oh really?"</p><p>She nodded, but didn't elaborate. "I suppose I should ask how your first day back is going."</p><p>"I'm not sure I ever knew how many people Stirling employed," he said. "But I'm fairly certain I've met them all now."</p><p>"Oh, no," said Francesca. "They made up a schedule. The other half will be up this afternoon."</p><p>He stared at her, aghast. Her expression was perfectly deadpan serious, and for a moment, he wanted to sink back into the car seat and never come out. But then he saw the faintest hint of a twinkle in her eye and he mentally gave a huge sigh of relief.</p><p>He pointed a finger at her. "That was cruel."</p><p>She shrugged her shoulders, and looked out the car window. "And is it less than you deserve?"</p><p>Her tone was as light as he'd yet heard it, but the weight of four years lay heavy behind the words.</p><p>"Francesca…" he started, and then stopped. He didn't know how to make her understand. Maybe he never would.</p><p>"We're here," she said, and the sheen of ice from earlier was back. It was no less than he deserved, and yet he resented it with every fiber of his being.</p><p>Once the car stopped, she bolted out the door and into the restaurant. Michael thumped his head back against the car seat once, then twice. It didn't help. With a sigh, he got out of the car and made his way to the restaurant door's, trailing in Francesca's wake.</p><p>***</p><p>Lunch was...uncomfortably familiar, Francesca thought, as the meal drew to a close. It was something the four of them had done together a million times and yet none at all, because before, they'd always had John.</p><p>"I think that's everything," Janet said. She folded her napkin and placed it on the table, signalling to the waiter that they were ready for their check. "Oh, and you didn't forget that Helen and I will be leaving for Greece next week, did you?"</p><p>Francesca shook her head, but Michael looked at his mother in surprise.</p><p>"I just got home," he said.</p><p>Helen patted him on the hand. "I know and I'm so happy about it. We'll have plenty of time to catch up when we get back. Since you're home to stay."</p><p>From across the table, Francesca could see the almost imperceptible look of regret that crossed Michael's face. Anyone who didn't know him well wouldn't have noticed a thing, not as he grabbed both his mother's and his aunt's hands and squeezed them.</p><p>"Make good choices, ladies," he said, with lascivious winks in either direction. "Don't break too many hearts."</p><p>Both Janet and Helen tittered, just as he'd meant them to. The smallest of cracks formed in the ice around Francesca's heart. Maybe they'd find a way to repair things after all. Maybe Michael was still in there somewhere and they'd find a way to be a family again.</p><p>He looked across the table at her, and Francesca gave him the smallest of approving nods. He gave her a ghost of a smile, and went back to charming the mothers. The crack splintered just a little more.</p><p>When the waiter came with the check, Francesca slipped him her credit card and went back to watching Michael work. Surely he'd learned new tricks in four years, and she needed to know what they were before he turned them on her.</p><p>Because he would. She knew it as certainly as she knew her name was Francesca Stirling. And she wanted to be ready.</p><p>***</p><p>By the time a month had passed, Michael felt like he had mostly settled back into the day to day routine at Stirling Sports. People were starting to trust him to know what was going on with the company, and not treat him like the owner's dilettante son, no matter that even when he'd been overseas, he'd kept his nose to the grindstone.</p><p>He and Francesca were finding their rhythm together, too. Oh, there was still more distance then there had ever been before them, but where the work was concerned, no one would notice if they didn't know to look for it. He was mostly working on team related issues and Francesca was embedded deep on the television side of the company, and it was a surprisingly good balance of their respective talents. When he and John had been the leaders in waiting, they'd both been too focused on the hockey operations side of the ledger, Michael could see that now.</p><p>But while Michael was grateful that they were finding their way together as co-CEOs, he missed his friend. Even if he and Francesca were never meant to be more than that, he wanted that part of their relationship back. It had been four years. Surely that was long enough.</p><p>As if summoned, Francesca stepped into Michael's office. She stopped mid-stride, and looked at him in surprise. "I didn't think you were still here."</p><p>"Or you wouldn't have come in?" he said, with an eyebrow raised.</p><p>Francesca flushed. "No, of course not. I just thought you were going to Kilmartin for the long weekend. Shouldn't you have left by now? Traffic is going to be terrible."</p><p>He took pity on her, and rounded his desk to take the papers she still had clutched in her hand. "I was going to, but I had a late call with the west coast. By the time it ended, it hardly seemed worth it to subject myself to the drive tonight."</p><p>She frowned. "Did you let Mrs. Davies know? I asked them to open the house for you. They'll be expecting you."</p><p>Michael put his hand on her back and steered her towards his couch, nudging her into taking a seat and then taking the chair opposite her. "Yes. My mother raised me better than that, and if she hadn't, you certainly drilled it into my head enough times when we used to go up there for weekends."</p><p>Francesca looked the slightest bit mollified. "Well...good. But you should still go home if you want to get on the road early. Driving tired is a safety hazard, or haven't you caught up on your corporate safety training videos yet?"</p><p>He laughed, and it felt so good to be doing that with her again. "I must have missed that one while trying to catch up on everything else. Sounds like a real barn burner."</p><p>She smiled at him, a real one, and it was the closest to normal that he'd felt in four years. It made him have an idea. Maybe a terrible idea, but an idea nonetheless. And he wouldn't know until he asked.</p><p>"Come with me," he said.</p><p>Francesca blinked at him, obviously caught off guard. "What?"</p><p>"Come with me to Kilmartin," he said. "We've both been burning the midnight oil since the mothers dropped this bomb in our laps and fled the country. We could use some time away to recharge." He paused, studying her face. She didn't look like she was going to reject the idea outright, which was something. He decided to press on, despite the risk of making her storm out. "And...I miss you, Frannie. I know I don't have the right."</p><p>"You don't," she agreed, but there was no heat behind it the way there had been when he first got back. She looked at him for a minute more, and then buried her face in her hands. "I must be out of my mind."</p><p>His heart beat just the slightest bit faster. "Is that a yes?"</p><p>Francesca stood. "It's a pick me up at six and there better be coffee."</p><p>Michael watched her walk to the door, not believing that she hadn't turned him down flat. At the door, she turned back to look at him.</p><p>"Oh, and Michael?"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"Don't be late."</p><p>With that, she was gone and Michael couldn't do anything but stare after her. They were going to Kilmartin together. They were going to be alone at Kilmartin together. This was the best or worst idea that Michael had had in a long time, and he had no idea which it was going to end up being.</p><p>He stood, and started packing up his desk. One thing was for certain, he was not going to risk being late to that pick up. Not if he could do anything to prevent it.</p><p>Francesca was giving him a chance. He wasn't going to blow it.</p><p>***</p><p>The next morning, Francesa was not the slightest bit surprised to find Michael on her doorstep at six o'clock sharp, a takeout cup from Tim Horton's waiting in his hand. Handing Michael a direct challenge was the nearest thing to guaranteeing a certain outcome where he was concerned.</p><p>"Good morning," he said, with his best charming smile on his face. He handed her the cup, and said, "Ready to go?"</p><p>Francesca took a sip, and smiled behind the rim. He remembered her coffee order. She took a step back to let him in, and he followed her into the foyer of her house. Her bags were waiting neatly next to the door, but Michael was too busy looking around to notice.</p><p>"It looks the same," he said, with what sounded like surprise.</p><p>Francesca winced. She hadn't thought of the fact that being back here after all this time might be painful for him. She'd learned to live with John's ghost in this house that they'd shared. By leaving, Michael hadn't.</p><p>"Some is, some isn't," she said. "Every time I change anything, I have to remind myself that houses aren't meant to be trapped in amber. No matter how much easier it might be."</p><p>He looked sideways at her. "I'm surprised you stayed."</p><p>It was her turn to look surprised. "I love this house. John loved this house. Leaving would have felt like...abandoning him." She shook her head. "Maybe that's silly. I've never actually said that out loud before."</p><p>"No," Michael said softly. He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. "I understand."</p><p>Looking at him, at the still raw pain on his face, she rather thought that he did. Maybe by staying, she'd had the better of the grief. She hadn't walked away from John's ghost, but had stayed, and learned to live with and be comforted by the ghosts of him that she saw everywhere. When Michael left, he gave that up. She couldn't imagine how hard it was to finally face it.</p><p>She squeezed his hand gently, trying to tell him that she understood, that it would get better. He squeezed her hand back.</p><p>For now, it would have to be enough.</p><p>"Should we go?" Francesca asked, disentangling her fingers from his. It was strangely painful. "You could make yourself useful and help carry my bags to the car."</p><p>Michael turned, and saw the small stack of luggage waiting. His eyes went wide, and Francesca bit back a laugh. "How long did you think we were going to Kilmartin for? A month?"</p><p>"A lady never knows what she might need," Francesca said airily. She walked to the bags and picked up her purse and briefcase. "Lock up behind you, won't you? I'm assuming you still have your key."</p><p>Francesca walked out to the car waiting at the curb, biting back a laugh at the eruption of curses she heard behind her.</p><p>***</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
I'm on my way to Kilmartin</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
Don't text and drive!</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
I'm not driving</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
…<br/>
Is there something you need to tell me, Francesca??</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
I'm with Michael</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
!!!!!!!!!</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
It's not a big deal</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
A month ago you didn't want to be the in same room with him</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
Things change!!!<br/>
Am I not allowed to change my mind?</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
Touchy, touchy<br/>
I saw a picture of him online<br/>
Someone came home from Europe even hotter<br/>
That wouldn't have anything to do with "changing your mind" would it</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
I hate you, you are my least favorite sister</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
That doesn't sound like a denial</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
I was MARRIED not dead<br/>
I have always been perfectly aware of how hot Michael is</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
I mean, I'm gay and aware of how hot Michael is<br/>
Low bar, Frannie</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
You are the worst</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
If you want the worst, text Hyacinth<br/>
What do you need, twin<br/>
You wouldn't be texting me your itinerary if you were okay</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
I don't NEED anything<br/>
But is this okay?<br/>
I feel like I'm forgetting why I was mad<br/>
He hurt me so much, Eloise</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
He hurt you so much because he mattered<br/>
It's okay if he matters to you again</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
Yeah?</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
YES<br/>
gtg, the kids are out and you know what that means</p><p><b>Francesca</b><br/>
Gross<br/>
Have fun</p><p><b>Eloise</b><br/>
Make good choices!<br/>
On second thought, don't</p><p>***</p><p>It was a long, but uneventful drive to Kilmartin. Over the years, the house had become something more than your average cottage in the woods, with each generation of Stilings adding on to it or doing something to make it theirs. Michael supposed that was his job now. It was another thing that he should have shared with John. But he wouldn't let himself think about that now, not when the thing he'd wanted to share the most was sitting next to him, and it was like they'd rolled back the clock.</p><p>"What do you want to do first?" he asked Francesca, as they unloaded their bags onto the wide front porch that stretched the length of the house. "Water skiing? Tubing?"</p><p>She snorted a laugh, and grabbed the last of the bags from the trunk. "I believe you've mistaken me for someone else. I have a date with the dock, a lounge chair, and one of the not at all improving novels on my Kindle."</p><p>"But Francesca, if you don't play with me, who will?" Michael asked, letting himself pout just a little. It had worked all his life, after all. But from the expression on Francesca's face, this was not going to be one of those times. "Fine. But I'm getting you out on the water at some point during this weekend. Bet on it."</p><p>"We'll see," she said, and Michael took it as a dare.</p><p>Together they moved all their things inside, and delivered bags to bedrooms. Michael ended up in the room he'd always used at Kilmartin, but to his surprise, Francesca wasn't in the room that he remembered her and John sharing. It was interesting how grief worked, he thought, before forbidding himself to dwell on the topic.</p><p>They were here. This was the present. He wasn't going to let himself live in the past.</p><p>Michael trooped to the kitchen and investigated the cupboards and refrigerator. It appeared they had been well stocked when Mrs. Davies opened the house. They wouldn't have to leave the property the whole weekend, not unless they wanted to.</p><p>Inventory done, Michael went outside. True to her word, Francesca was already outside and spreading a towel across one of the wooden lounge chairs they kept on their pavilion on the lake. She'd changed--gone were the leggings and sweatshirt she'd worn for the drive here, and in their place was a small pair of shorts and a smaller bikini top, one that Michael could only imagine was matched by an equally small bikini bottom.</p><p>He gulped. Maybe this trip had been a terrible idea. He was still trying to get Francesca to be his friend again, let alone dealing with the wanting her that was always there just waiting under his skin. But it was too late for second thoughts, not unless he wanted to spend the whole weekend avoiding her and that was not the point of being here together.</p><p>He steeled himself and went to change, before joining Francesca on the lakefront. In his absence, she'd stripped down further, and the matching bikini bottom was every bit as small as he'd feared-slash-hoped.</p><p>"Enjoying the sun?" he asked, and if his voice was raspy to his own ears, he could only assume that it was in his head, as Francesca looked up at him as if nothing was amiss, shading her eyes with her hand.</p><p>"Always," she said, with a happy sigh. "I love our job--more than I ever dreamed I would--but it means spending so much time <em>inside</em>. If we could move a conference room to the roof, I'd be so much happier."</p><p>"I'm afraid that wouldn't be very practical during the winter," Michael said. He sat down on the lounger next to hers, but didn't make a move to stretch out. He nodded towards the bottle of sunscreen on the table between them. "Want me to get your back?"</p><p>It was an innocent enough offer, and nothing he hadn't done for her dozens of times before. Of course before, her husband--his cousin--had always been nearby to keep Michael's worst instincts at bay. So it was also a test. Could he put his hands on her the way that he always had before, and not make it more? He really didn't know.</p><p>Seemingly unaware of the turmoil coursing through him, Francesca sat up and turned, presenting him with the mostly bare stretch of her back. "Thank you, Michael."</p><p>He closed his eyes, took a breath. Then he reached for the bottle of sunscreen, and walked straight into his own personal version of hell.</p><p>At the first touch of her skin, he knew he was doomed.</p><p>***</p><p>The second Michael's hands touched her back, Francesca had to bite back a gasp. His hands were cool, the sunscreen warm, the contrast between them a small shock to her system. But perhaps what was most shocking of all--someone was touching her.</p><p>Francesca couldn't remember the last time someone had truly touched her.</p><p>Oh, she hugged her family when she saw them and there was always a hand to be shook at Stirling. But that wasn't the same as someone <em>touching</em> her. She hadn't known she'd missed it.</p><p>"Okay?" Michael asked, as his hands swept lower on her back. "Tell me if it's not."</p><p>"It's good," she managed to get out, her hands clenched into fists by her side. She was afraid if she didn't do that, she'd do something stupid, like reach out and touch him in return. And she couldn't do that--he was <em>Michael</em>. Her mixed feelings about forgiving him aside, they still hadn't talked about what had happened when John died, not to mention, it was completely inappropriate for her to be liking John's cousin's hands on her so much, but oh, did it feel good.</p><p>His hands dipped lower, edging the bottom of her suit, and this time Francesca couldn't help the gasp that slipped out.</p><p>Instantly, Michael's hands froze in place. "Francesca?"</p><p>"It's fine," she said, her heart racing. She thought of Eloise saying to make bad choices. She knew she shouldn't. She did. "Don't stop."</p><p>His hands didn't move.</p><p>"Michael?"</p><p>"Look at me, please," he said, and his voice was husky, the way that Francesca had always imagined it being when he was with other women. "Frannie, please."</p><p>Francesca turned to look at him.</p><p>Michael had never looked at her like this before, with lust and longing and <em>need</em>. She didn't know how she was looking back at him, but whatever he saw, it was enough to answer whatever question he had.</p><p>He kissed her.</p><p>She made a muffled sound against his mouth, then opened to take his kiss. She clutched at his shoulders, he pressed his palm flat against her back until they were flush together, chest to chest. He kissed her and he kissed her, and she couldn't help but kiss him back the same way. She'd never dreamt of kissing Michael, there had only ever been John, but now with Michael's mouth pressed to hers, she wasn't sure she ever wanted the kissing to stop.</p><p>His mouth left hers, trailed down her throat. His hands roamed her skin, leaving burn marks in their wake. "Frannie," he said, his words a plea against her body. "Frannie, please."</p><p>It was the please that made her break away, slide out of his embrace. She stood, hand pressed against her mouth, her heart racing. When she looked at Michael's face, it was filled with such terrible pain and longing, Francesca wasn't sure she could bear it for another moment. Whatever he wanted, she didn't know if she had to give.</p><p>"Francesca," he said.</p><p>She shook her head. With tears in her eyes, she grabbed her things and ran back to the house. She only wished there was anywhere else to go.</p><p>***</p><p>Michael let her go. There wasn't anything else he could do.</p><p>He wanted Francesca, he would always want Francesca. But it couldn't just be about his wanting. She had to want him too.</p><p>He looked to the sky, which was stubbornly blue and clear. For the feelings raging through him, he was at least owed a storm. He yelled, venting almost a decade's worth of frustration into one long, gut wrenching shout. When he couldn't yell any longer, he sank down onto the chair that Francesca had vacated. He put his head in his hands.</p><p>"I'm sorry, John," he said. "I didn't mean to love her too. But she's Francesca. You, of all people, should know just how easy she is to love. And I'm tired. Tired of pretending that this isn't how I feel, how I have always felt. People who say time and distance are the best ways to mend a broken heart never tried to get over Francesca Bridgerton, let me tell you that. I tried time. I tried distance. And when I walked into that conference room this summer and saw her for the first time in four years, it was like my heart started beating again."</p><p>He paused, shook his head.</p><p>"I had to go. I couldn't stay and be you and know all the while that she'd never love me the same way. I think you would have understood that. You might have been the only one that ever would. How can I make her understand me, John? How can I make her give me a chance; me, Michael, not Michael, the next best thing to John?"</p><p>"You could ask," said Franesca from behind him.</p><p>His heart in his throat, Michael turned to look at her. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she was really standing there, tall and proud and resolute, the Francesca of his dreams of years gone by and the Francesca of today, all mixed into one person. The person that he had loved and the person that he was always going to love.</p><p>"You...left," he said, knowing he sounded like a baffled fool. Feeling like one too. "I didn't mean--"</p><p>"I decided one of us had to stop running," she said. "And besides, there was a very loud yelling noise from out here. I was worried someone was being murdered."</p><p>As a joke, it wasn't funny, but Michael made himself turn up the corners of his mouth anyway. If she was trying, so could he. "How much did you hear?"</p><p>"Almost all of it," she said.</p><p>She went to move, hesitated. He watched her fight a war with her feet, until whatever part of her wanted to move closer, brought him to the chair opposite him. She sat, and they looked at each other, one tortured face to the other.</p><p>"Michael, I--" she started, but he raised a hand to cut her off.</p><p>"I'm sorry I left you like that. I'm sorry that I betrayed the best person I have ever known every single day that you two were together. I'm sorry I'm not John, that I can't bring him back for you."</p><p>"No," said Francesca, fiercely. "You don't get to be sorry for that. You don't get to wish your own life away, no matter what it's in service of. Do you think that he would want that? That I would? You say that you've always loved me, but how could you ever love a person like that? Someone that would trade one person that they loved for another? Because yes, Michael, I loved you then. Not the way you apparently needed me to, but love nonetheless."</p><p>He nodded, his throat dry. "Francesca--"</p><p>"I'm not finished," she said. "You got your monologue, let me have mine."</p><p>Somehow, this time the smile on his face was a real one. "By all means, continue."</p><p>"It was because I loved you that your leaving hurt so much, Michael. I understand now that you couldn't stay. But I spent four years wondering what I did wrong that at the worst moment of my life, someone I <em>loved</em> would choose to abandon me. That's what I couldn't forgive." She paused. "Okay. Monologue over. <em>Now</em> you can talk."</p><p>He met her eyes, and held them. He wanted no misunderstandings between them, not this time. Any dreams he had of a future between them, meant putting their past to rest.</p><p>"What about now? Could you forgive me now?"</p><p>***</p><p>It was a hard question with a simple answer. She'd been forgiving him slowly for months, and now suddenly all at once. She'd been very selfish in her grief four years ago, only able to see her hurts. She wouldn't apologize for that, it would be a lie. But she should have seen Michael's too, even if she'd never have believed the cause.</p><p>Michael had loved her. Loved her still. She didn't know what to do with that. But there was nothing to be done until she answered the question that had hung over their every interaction since his return.</p><p>"Yes," she said. "I forgive you, Michael."</p><p>He let out a breath, a long shuddering one that hurt Francesca to watch. Whatever weight she'd carried from their estrangement, it was clear that it had weighed on him all the harder. She hoped that he felt the same weight leaving his shoulders as she was now.</p><p>She took her own deep, steadying breath. It was a little easier than it had been before.</p><p>"Then are we friends again?" she asked, holding out a hand for his. She expected him to take it and squeeze it the way that he had so many times before. He didn't.</p><p>Michael looked at her outstretched hand, and then back up to her face. He shook his head slowly, as if it was breaking his heart. "Don't you understand, Frannie? We were never friends."</p><p>It was a punch in the gut she hadn't been expecting. "But--"</p><p>He finally grabbed her hand, ignoring her attempts to pull it back. "We were never <em>only</em> friends, not to me. And I know it wasn't the same for you, but I can't put that genie back in the bottle, Francesca."</p><p>Francesca didn't know what to say. Somehow she'd arrived at this point, knowing that the entire rest of her life resided in the balance, without having the slightest clue how she'd gotten there. Whatever she said next was as important as anything she'd said before--yes to her first date with John, yes to John's proposal, vows at their wedding. She'd never gained anything good in her life by saying no. Maybe this was no place to start.</p><p>"Who asked you to?" Francesca said.</p><p>Michael's eyes narrowed, and his grip on her hand tightened. "What are you saying, Frannie?"</p><p>Francesca stood, her hand still in Michael's, since he clearly had no intention of letting go. She took one step and then another, crossing the space between them. She sank to her knees in front of him and brought her other hand to his face. Both of them were barely breathing.</p><p>"Figure it out," she said.</p><p>And she kissed him.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Approximately nine months later…</em>
</p><p>"What are you doing here?"</p><p>At the sound of Francesca's voice, Michael turned from the windows where he'd been looking out at the Ottawa skyline at night. He smiled at the sight of her, and held out his hand. "What are <em>you</em> doing here?" he countered, as he dropped to a seat in his executive chair. As soon as she was in reach, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down into his lap. He kissed her neck in greeting, smiling when she tilted her head so he'd have better access.</p><p>"Looking for you," Francesca said promptly. "I thought for sure you'd be at the rink until late, but the mothers saw you sneaking out of the box. I took a chance you'd be here instead." She combed her fingers through his hair, brushing it back off his forehead. "Big night."</p><p>Michael dropped his head to her shoulder and sighed. It still amazed him sometimes how well she knew him now. It would have been a lie to say that every day of the past nine months had been easy, that there hadn't been any days where he thought that their shared past wouldn't overwhelm them and what they were trying to build together, but every day of those nine months that had brought them here, that had brought them <em>together</em>, so close that he couldn't ever imagine them apart, they had all been worth it.</p><p>Here, too the night that <em>their</em> hockey team clinched a playoff spot for the first time in decade.</p><p>It was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He should be ecstatic and drinking champagne with the mothers and the team and coaches. He wanted to do all of that, he would do all of that. But John should have been there too. It made the celebrating hard.</p><p>Michael sighed. "I miss John."</p><p>"I know," said Francesca. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed. "He would have loved tonight."</p><p>They talked about John now, and it was a little easier every time they did, a little less strange. They celebrated his life on his birthday and mourned his loss on the anniversary of his death, and by doing what they should have done from the start, it made all the times where they didn't think about John at all, all the easier to navigate. John would never be absent from their lives, he knew there were times that Aunt Janet was always going to look at him and Francesca together and not understand, but that was okay.</p><p>Because he and Francesca together were the present and the future and forever.</p><p>Which reminded him of the <em>other</em> reason that Michael wanted to celebrate tonight. He shifted Francesca on his lap, reaching around her to the drawer at the middle of his desk. He palmed the small velvet box that he'd stored there earlier, holding it tight in his fist. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, and he tried to take discreet deep breaths. He was reasonably certain he had nothing to be nervous about where Francesca's answer was concerned, but he'd never proposed to anyone before. He figured he was entitled to the nerves.</p><p>"I love you," Michael said.</p><p>Francesca smiled at him, her fingers tracing over his jaw. "I love you." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, too fast for him to turn his head to kiss her mouth instead. She slid off his lap and stood, smoothingt her skirt back down over her thighs. "Are you ready to go back to the rink? We really <em>should</em> make an appearance at the party. You know it's going to be going on until all hours, nevermind that there's another game in two days that they should be resting up for. We still need to finish the season strong, or the playoffs will be over before they know it."</p><p>Michael grabbed her hand before she could round the corner of his desk, urging her back so that she was leaning back against it. Francesca started to frown at him, but then he sunk to his knee before her.</p><p>"Michael," she said, her hand going to her mouth. "Michael, what are--"</p><p>"Francesca Bridgerton Stirling," he said, his mouth dry. "I love you. You know that. I don't have prettier words to offer you, because I know that you think those are the most important words of all. I know that this might be too soon, that we haven't really talked about this and don't you think that's strange, because we talk about everything else."</p><p>She laughed, a little, and a few tears trickled down her cheeks. "It's not too soon. Michael--"</p><p>"Let me finish," he said.</p><p>Francesca nodded, wiping at her cheeks with her free hand.</p><p>"This season has been the hardest I have ever worked, both on and off the ice. And we did that work together. I want to remember this night as the culmination of all of our hard work, together. I want us to remember it for the rest of our lives."</p><p>He brought out the ring box, flipped open the lid. He didn't offer her the diamond that John had, but instead a bright red ruby. He'd chosen red for his heart and for their love and for their team, and he hoped that he'd appreciate the symbols.</p><p>"Francesca Bridgerton Stirling," he said again, plucking the ring out of the box, and holding it to her hand. "Will you marry me?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," she said.</p><p>He wasted no time in slipping the ring onto her finger, and rose from his knees to wrap her in his arms. She was crying and he pressed kisses over her cheeks, everywhere a tear fell. When he finally took her mouth, they both tasted of salt. Her hands cupped his face, her new ring a cool brand against his skin.</p><p>He lifted her, so that she was fully seated on his desk. Together, they fought with her skirt, pushing it up her thighs, so that there was space for him between them. When they were flush together again, they both let out a sigh of relief.</p><p>Things intensified.</p><p>She pushed his suit jacket from his shoulders, he unbuckled the belt from around her waist. They kissed. She went to work on the buttons on his shirt, he drew her sweater up over her head. Their chests touched, bare skin to bare skin. She attacked his belt, he attacked her bra. More skin, more kissing.</p><p>He went back to his knees, and she fell back against the desk. Slowly, slowly, he drew her panties down her thighs, replacing them with his mouth. She moaned, and her hands found his hair. He kissed her more intently, relishing in the sounds that she couldn't help but make, the way she tugged at his hair to move him to and fro. He was a vessel for her pleasure and there was nowhere else in the world that he wanted to be.</p><p>She shook and trembled her way to an orgasm, his name on her lips. She pulled at him, pulled him over her. He kissed her again, and this time it was with her taste on his lips.</p><p>Together, they pushed his trousers to the floor and he hissed when she took him in her hand.</p><p>"Now, Michael," she said, and he obeyed.</p><p>They kissed, and he sank into her, like it was his home. They moved together, slowly at first, then faster. Their hands found each other, clasped. He chanted her name against her throat when he came, she sighed his when she followed him over the cliff.</p><p>They came back to themselves gradually, both wincing as the after realities of sex on a desk brought themselves to light.</p><p>Michael got up first, grabbing at the tissues from his drawer and cleaning them both up. He collapsed back into his chair, and pulled Francesca with him, both of them still mostly undressed. He kissed her hair.</p><p>"I love you."</p><p>She raised an eyebrow at him. "After that, I would certainly hope so."</p><p>He laughed and held her tighter.</p><p>They never did make it back to the party.</p>
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